Mark Leslie is a writer, editor and bookseller who lives in Southern Ontario. In 2005, Mark joined the blogging bandwagon and started posting random thoughts and musings on writing, bookselling and being a father.

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Years ago I started a silly Christmas lyric meme
where I take a song we hear countless times during the holiday season and discuss something that confuses me about it or is worth exploring if merely for
the humour . . . (feel free to play along and share your own silly
thoughts about Christmas lyrics on your own blog)

I'm going to slightly break with tradition this time around and go with a poem rather than a song. But Clement C. Moore's
"Twas the Night Before Christmas" (AKA "A Visit from St. Nicholas").
Although this poem HAS been set to music many times over the years.

The Rules: Pick
a Christmas lyric that inspires silly thought and discuss it. Then
either tag people or simply invite your readers to chime in with their
own silliness.

Feel free to use the "Cousin Eddie" image by copying the following code and replacing the '(' and ')' with '<' and '>' :

Lyrics in Question: "When what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer with a little old driver..." and others, to be mentioned.

The Comment: I propose that the popular interpretation of this poem is missing out on a simple fact. Santa isn't a human-sized man at all, but, in fact, a tiny elf.

That could certainly explain how he can slip down the chimney without issue.

Let's look at the line. One assumes that the tiny sleigh and reideer are because of the distance Sanata appears up in the sky. But nowhere does Moore mention that Santa is really high or far away. He simply calls the sleigh miniature, and the reindeer tiny and the driver "little" and "old."

Later, the narrator describes hearing on the roof the "prancing and pawing of each little hoof."

And, when Santa arrives, he is described with a droll little mouth and a little round belly. Moore even comes right out and says: "He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf."

Then, he describes how Santa stands laying his finger on the side of his nose and then rising up the chimney. There is no description of crouching or trying to jam his human sized body into the fireplace. It's a quick and easy movement; easy, because he's elf-sized and not human-sized.

I still love this poem and have enjoyed reading it to my son every year. And I'm not at all put off by the fact that Santa is a tiny little elf rather than a human sized coke-drinking overweight man. Santa is still Santa, after all.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

So I made it through another NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), hitting the 50,000 word mark but not quite finishing off the novel I was working on. Ideally, I'll have some time between now and the end of the year to wrap up that first draft and then let it sit for a few months before attacking the second draft.

But, for the Kobo Writing Life Podcast, I recorded a chat that I had with some fellow Kobo staff members: Shayna, Camille and Bessie -- we shared our personal experiences with NaNoWriMo.

Thursday, December 11, 2014

I was recently up at my Mom's house in Levack. I've been spending a lot of time there lately as I help her sort through some health issues.

Being back in my childhood room leaves plenty of space for introspection. This has been a particularly challenging year with twists and plot turns that I just didn't see coming. So one can imagine how that might lend itself towards engaging in self-reflection and looking back at my life. And, being in the home I grew up in, of course, comes with all kinds of physical props that can stir so many different memories.

But the other day I was fascinated with a particular piece of "art" that I had created when I was in Grade 12.

It was a piece of art I called Second Excalibur.

2nd Excalibur - check out the "signature" of "ML" I used

I chose that name because I was imagining a post-apocalyptic world in which all of our modern technology and weapons are gone and humankind is left with the types of tools and weapons from our past. In the midst of the turmoil and chaos, a new leader who will bring peace and order to the madness will arise, identified (in an Excalibur/Sword in the Stone style manner) by the person who is able to pull this sword from the "stone."

The stone, in this case, is a combination of rubble and a brick wall, representing a world that is partially destroyed, likely by war.

And when I thought back to how I ended up deciding to create this piece of art, I was reminded of the age-old adage of playing with the cards that you are dealt or taking the lemons that life hands you and making lemonade.

Basically, taking an unexpected situation and, not only making the best of it, but making something good of it.

The particular art project, you see, was the result of a mistake, a screw-up I made. We had been mixing the powder and water that would turn into the "clay" for creating a sculpture. I ended up leaving the stir stick in the mixture, left it out and forgot about it. By the time I discovered my error, it was too late and a terrible mess. I had a cup with a rock hard blob with a wooden stick sticking out of it.

My art project was ruined.

Or perhaps not.

As I sat looking at the mess I had made, I thought about what I might still be able to make with it. So I peeled the cup away from the globby rock-solid mess. As I did so, I was fascinated how one side of it was so perfectly smooth while the other was "wild" and jagged and more natural.

So I started to etch a pattern in the smooth side to make it look like a brick wall. I wondered if I could play on the thought of a half crumbled wall. But then I considered the sorry wooden stir stick that I just couldn't pull out. Not being able to pull it out made me think of the sword in the stone. Then I got the idea to carve the wood into a sword and make it part of the sculpture.

And from that, Second Excalibur was born. A piece of art with a bit of a societal back-story to it.

Second Excalibur

It's not a great piece of art, but I think it's a creative one, and evidence that, even when things go wrong, there might be a way make it work, to just go with it and see where that takes you. You might be pleasantly surprised.

Sometimes, when writing you might "write yourself into a corner" and either feel stuck or perhaps end up writing a scene or circumstance (in order to get you out of that corner) that takes you in a completely different direction you might never have thought of in all your planning. And what you end up creating might even be better than if you hadn't made the original errors in the first place.

Life can be like that too.

An unexpected twist or plot-turn might, at first, seem to be a negative thing. But are there things that can be gained as you head down that new path? Do those twists take you somewhere new where you can discover things you might not have been able to see before?

You, of course, need to have your eyes open and look for those opportunities; inspiration can come from what might otherwise be considered a bad turn.

Having supposedly failed 1000 times at creating the light bulb, Thomas Edison was quoted as saying "I didn’t fail 1,000 times. The light bulb was an invention with 1,000 steps." And Fred Astaire, whose career spanned 76 years allegedly kept the following memo, from his very first screen test: "Can't act. Slightly bald. Also dances."

Edison and Astaire seemed to have both done pretty good for themselves.

Tuesday, December 02, 2014

So yesterday, in my rush to get my son to school and get onto my Hamilton to Toronto commute, I left my traveler coffee mug on the kitchen counter. I didn't notice it until I was already on the road, and completely forgot about it until the end of a long day where it greeted me when I arrived.

Not once did it question why I had created it and left it there alone.
Not once was it angry at my human-ness.

My coffee mug, like a devoted canine companion, was there waiting for me with imagined puppy-dog eyes to look up at me as I finally returned from a day started without it.

And for that reason, I write this poem.

ODE ON A TRAVELER MUG

You noble, elegant and quiet vessel
Of infinite wakefulness
In those silent morning hours

You beautiful purveyor of AM bliss
Of inspiration, of energy
And of ritualized addiction

You friend of humanity
In your comforting, warming ways
You carry forth the essential 'lifeblood'
And allow it to travel, to move through space and time
Ever warm, ever present, ever within reach

Earlier that morning I brewed a special blend of black crushed beans
And poured it inside you with all the greatest intent
Of bringing you, and the treasure you carried inside you
With me on that day's quest into servitude

But, rushing, oblivious
Perhaps because of the fact I hadn't yet savoured
Even a single ounce of the fruit that you bore

I departed on my journey alone
I departed on my journey without you
And had all but forgot the grand designs
I held in my heart and mind for you

Finally, twelve hours hence
I returned home
Only to be greeted by your presence

Standing, patiently, lovingly, like a stoic sentinel
Like a beloved, cherished and faithful canine companion
Greeting me from where I left you alone and quietly waiting for me
On my morning breakfast counter